


i'm so tired

by logicalspecs



Series: requests :) [1]
Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Gen, geo looks up to john, mother hen! paul, sick! geo, which isnt always a good thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-12 23:32:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18456884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/logicalspecs/pseuds/logicalspecs
Summary: The long days, and even longer nights, were starting to take a toll on the newly formed Beatles - George Harrison in particular.





	i'm so tired

The cavern club was practically shaking with the beat of the music, the air musky with the scent of sweat and booze. George forced another sip of some German beer down his throat — it had been Paul's favorite back in hamburg, and George promised him he'd try it — it was smooth enough, but it only irritated his scratchy throat more. He coughed, hoping to relieve some of choking feeling that had been plaguing him since last night, to no avail. If anything, it only made him wince in pain.

"Y'alright there, son?" John's voice came suddenly to his left as he slid into the booth, taking his seat next to George.

"Yeah, m'fine, just went down the wrong hatch, y'know." He shrugged, glancing at John in time to see the older man's eyebrows raise in disbelief.

"We all heard you coughing up a lung last night, Hassa. Did it go down the wrong hatch then, too?" John rested his chin in his hand, staring at George expectantly.

The youngest Beatle shrank back a bit under the gaze, biting his lip to hold back another cough. The pounding in his head was getting worse by the minute, John's face slowly going in and out of focus.

"Me throat's just sore, alright? Anyroad, we're on in a few, where's Paul?" He quickly changed the subject, and John narrowed his already squinted eyes.

"You better not be getting sick, son. We need ya." John clapped him on the back, standing up to go search for their missing bassist. George tried not to smile at the off-hand compliment, and tore his gaze away from John's retreating form.

He took another large sip of his drink, knowing he'll need it if he wants to make it through the performance. Paul and John were already making their way to the stage, Paul looking half drunk as he leaned against John, a small smile on his face.

George wiped the leftover condensation from his drink onto his leather trousers, frowning at how clammy his skin felt. He brushed it off as an effect of the hot atmosphere of the club and made his way to set up his guitar.

Walking seemed more of a challenge then usual, and George was left wondering just how strong that beer was as he stumbled slightly up the stairs. A slight blush burned his cheeks as he caught sight of a couple of birds giggling at him, their eyes alight.

With his guitar finally set up, he watched as Paul counted them into their first song. He couldn't seem to focus on the chords he was playing, the noise of his own band and the cheering of the crowd suddenly becoming too much. He gritted his teeth, but kept his fingers moving on muscle memory alone.

"Alright, now for our next number,  _Roll Over Beethoven!_ " Paul's voice cut suddenly through the haze his mind had fallen into, and he realized slowly that he was supposed to be singing. 

And yet, he couldn't seem to get his mouth to move. In fact, everything seemed to freeze as his vision went dark.

-//-

Someone was singing, softly, as if they were afraid of waking a child. The words of the song melded together in his mind, but he drew comfort from the familiar tone.

"Paul?" He mumbled, his mouth feeling heavy, the word taking far too much energy to form.

"Hey, Georgie. How're you feeling?" Paul's hands slowly guided George into a sitting position, before pressing a cool glass in his hands.

"Drink," Paul ordered softly, his arched brows furrowed in concern.

"What happened?" George asked, trying to sort through the clouded memories in his mind. One second they were performing, the next he was waking up to Paul singing at his bedside.

"You gave us a right fright, that's what." Paul pressed his palm to George's forehead, and the younger boy pulled away slightly at the touch. "Ya went all pale like, and next thing ya know, you're dropping to the ground like a sack of flour. Nearly gave dear old John a heart attack, did ya."

"Oh," George said, ever so elegantly. He winced as a look of frustration flashed across Paul's face, and he swallowed thickly.

"Sorry I ruined the performance," George muttered quietly, watching Paul's reaction carefully. He could almost see John's face glowering down at him, his mouth forming biting words about how he should never have let a _child_ into his band-

"I'm not upset about that, Geo. God knows I couldn't care less." Paul was looking at him almost incredulously, before his gaze went back to his lap. George frowned.

"Then what's wrong?" The younger guitarist asked quietly, almost afraid to hear the answer.

Paul looked up from where he was fidgeting with his hands, his doe eyes wide and scared. It was a look George hadn't seen in years, not since Paul had come to his house late one night, trembling like a leaf.

_"Paul? What are you doing here?"_ He had asked, quickly opening the door to let the shaking boy in.

_"She's gone, Geo. Gone."_  A small sob had worked its way through Paul's lips, and George's blood had gone cold

Paul's eyes were just as open and vulnerable as they had been that night, and George felt a sharp stab in his chest.

"What's wrong?  _What's wrong?_ " Paul's voice was quiet, and George felt his chest tighten. 

"I-" Paul started, but his voice broke, cutting the sentence short.

"Paul, hey." George placed a gentle hand on his friends arm, squeezing lightly to reassure him. "I'm here, Paulie. I'm okay."

"No, you're not. You collapsed on stage, for God's sake." Paul shook his head, his teddy boy haircut starting to lose his form, starting to fall over his eyes in messy waves. "Why didn't you say something? We would've let you sit out, or hell, we could've just cancelled the performance. We need the break, anyroad."

George shrugged. "Didn't want you guys to think less of me. Hell, John's still gone up when he was blackout drunk."

"I don't think John's habits are a very good place to set your bar. He's not exactly the best role model, Georgie." Paul chuckled quietly, before sobering up. "We would never judge you for being sick, mate. Why would you think that?"

"Hey, I'm already the youngest, I don't need you guys thinking I'm even weaker than you already do." George looked down, wondering what on earth was leading him to open up like this.

Paul looked at him, his brow furrowed. "You're one of the strongest people I know, George. You've had to deal with me all these years, you'd have to be insanely strong to survive that." Paul smiled, and George managed a small laugh.

"Thanks, Paul." He said, and the sincerity in his voice surprised even him.

"Don't mention it," Paul said, the sad look in his eyes seeming to finally lighten. "Oh, and budge over, I'm knackered."

George snorted and moved over to the side of the bed, leaving space for Paul to climb in.

"You're gonna get sick, too." George muttered, already curling into Paul's side. It was familiar, and George already felt better as they snuggled together in the small bed.

"Yeah, and you'll have to take care of me." Paul said matter-of-factly, carding his fingers through George's dark locks.

George groaned good-naturedly. "But you're such a prick when you're sick, Paul."

Paul just huffed, and George smiled as he felt his friends breath puff against the crown of his head. The steady rhythm of Paul's fingers through his hair slowly lulled him to sleep, his mind more relaxed than it had been in weeks.


End file.
